Yang
by Simone Robinson
Summary: "-You would be sitting in one position until your legs ached so badly that you just needed to move. But you didn't because that would endanger the ones you swore to protect. It had been too long since he'd counted the days.-" Gift fic for- notawordsmith.


**This was a gift fic for notawordsmith. So technically, even if I wrote it, it belongs to her, but I have her permission to post it. So enjoy!**

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**Y** a n g

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**T****enebrous**

ten·e·brous/_ten__ə__br__ə__s_/

**Adjective**: Dark; shadowy or obscure

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"One of the things which danger does to you after a time is, well, to kill emotion. I don't think I shall ever feel anything again except fear. None of us can hate anymore - or love."

**- Graham Greene**

* * *

The aftermath of a battle was always the worst. Leonardo was sure of this. No matter how long after a fight, it stayed with you and you had the chance to actually _think_ about it. Leo didn't like thinking about battles, about killing. When you were in the moment, something might seem right, might seem justified. An enemy may look like a ruthless killer, but then, when you step back from the scene, his blood on your hands, you may realize that he was just a frightened child, new to the world of ninja, desperate for glory and now, dead. Or you may see a strong warrior clinging to his duty and honor, struggling while you rip it from his broken hands. While you crush his wrists and leave him lifeless. _Remembering_. That was the time that Leonardo hated the most.

There was a strong, sharp smell in his beak, almost like avanilla but not as potent. The floor beneath his feet was hard, solid almost, and he had to guess that it hadn't been raining lately. More the pity, Central America needed the water. Odd though, that they were going through a drought. Leonardo had thought it _always_ rained here. He supposed that nothing was permanent. Still, he could smell something like rain, but it was days away.

There was another scent in the air, coppery almost. It stank. Leonardo's hand felt sticky where it was clamped over his shoulder. He clutched hard at the flesh, almost as if he was trying to seal the wound with his bare hands. _Maybe he could_, he thought, with a thin, wry smile, _he'd done stranger things_. Beneath his fingertips, he could feel that his muscles had been torn. Leo was beginning to wonder whether it had been his opponent's intention to use a dull blade. It seemed to make the pain worse, as if his arm had been hacked through, rather than sliced with the usual precision.

Not that Leonardo was too fond of either option, he was just wondering.

The birds were chirping in the distance. It sounded like there were quite a few, maybe a flock that had chosen to nest near by. _Birds_. A smile, thin and hard, twisted his features. It was September was it not? He had forgotten what day it was. He always forgot what day it was, that was the part of this he hated most. Not knowing. You never knew anything about the outside when you holed up for days waiting for your target to maybe, _maybe_ walk past your hiding place. You would be sitting in one position until your legs ached so badly that you just _needed_ to move. But you didn't because that would endanger you, would endanger the people you swore to protect. And what if he walked past just at that moment?

Yes, it had been a long time since he'd tried to count the days.

Still, it was September and he'd left on the fifth. At least he thought it was the fifth, it was hard to recall. So that made a year since he'd left. It also gave him ten days to complete the last mission, the last job he'd be doing in Central America, and get back home. It felt like he'd been gone for longer two years, but at the same time, he may have been away for only one. And Leonardo was really getting _sick_of his twisted perceptions.

He'd promised Raph he'd be back in time for his birthday, if not to simply annoy his brother. He knew Raph hated it when they made a fuss.

If his legs would hold him till _that_tree, _just_ over there, then he'd let himself rest, if even for a moment.

When he reached it, he let himself collapse, slumping back against the thick, rough trunk, wrenching his pack from his shoulders. He could feel the little pebbles through the fabric of his stealth suit, digging into his flesh. Sometimes, he could hide better at night, dressed all in black. It felt odd though, being clothed again. He wasn't quite sure he liked it, but it made life easier and that was all he could really ask.

He dug a scroll out of his pack. He didn't unfold it, just gazed at it long and hard. This was the information that Mara Salvatrucha had on the village Leonardo had been protecting. It was fortunate that he'd intercepted the messenger before he'd reached the border. The Mara Salvatrucha were dangerous, and on their turf, Leonardo wasn't sure how well he would have faired. Certainly he wouldn't have been able to retrieve the information. He'd have been lucky to escape with his life.

For another long moment, he stared at the scroll. Then he reached for the matches he kept in his pack, and lit one. The paper began to smolder and Leonardo watched as it was burnt in his hands. The flames looked odd against the backdrop of green and brown. They were so vibrant, so full of life. He waited until there was nothing but crumbling, black ashes and a little nub of unburnt paper (So that he narrowly avoided being scorched), before tossing it away. Some were caught in the wind, some fell to the ground. It didn't matter to him. His job was done, the scroll destroyed. Whatever incriminating evidence, tactical information or any other strategic crap had been hidden in the scroll, was gone now.

It brought Leonardo no satisfaction and that thought alone, worried him.

He was tired, he decided. Very, very tired and it wasn't like him. It must be starting to affect him more than he had first thought. But he had to keep moving. He was too close to the border to stop. Or sleep. God he wanted to sleep so badly.

Still, he forced himself to his feet, slung his pack over his shoulder and started to walk. He was stumbling more that he liked, skimming his hands against the bark of the trees to keep himself upright. How long since he'd slept? Days? Probably. You always had to be on watch, always alert and the little five minute snatches of sleep you got in-between were never enough.

Damn it, he really, _really_hated these kinds of jobs.

***0***

The house, if you could even call it that, seemed jerry-built. The wall around the property, about waist high, was falling apart, the stones coming loose from the cement. Leonardo didn't really know what to make of it, a crumbling cottage (he decided that's what it was, a cottage) in the middle of the woods near**Guatemala City**. It was suspicious, to say the absolute least. Leonardo rubbed at his beak. He would be better off just leaving, continuing on to Solola and hoping that he could cross the border before he became too exhausted to keep going.

Still, for some reason, unknown to Leonardo, he was reluctant to leave the outer walls. It was better here, with at least _some_protection in the waning dusk. Out in the forest, he would be completely exposed.

Even so, he knew he should keep moving yet his legs, his_body_ did not want to cooperate.

"_Great_…" He crouched in the sand, his voice a low whisper, "I'm going to be ambushed out here." He wrinkled his beak, "And I'm talking to myself."

He felt around in his pack for his water, "Worse…" He tugged the container free, "I'm not even making sense." Tilting his head back, he gulped down the water. It was still cool as it hit the back of his throat and had an odd, silty taste from where he'd filled it up in a stream earlier.

Even before he'd swallowed the last gulp of water, he had felt her. There was this mellow, quiet vibe in the air and it reminded him of Donatello. Almost. When he'd had a good, productive day and was _finally_ going to go to bed. He missed that.

He looked up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

He did not recognize her, the woman who stood in the doorway to the cottage. She was looking at him with something like curiosity, her head tilted so that her hair draped itself over her shoulders. She seemed pretty average. Medium build, dark, tanned skin, long, brown hair. He was too far off to see the colour of her eyes, but he could imagine that they would be big and bright, like all the other young girls he'd seen around Solola village, and every other village since.

He felt no threat coming from her, no cunning intent or desire to hurt him. Not even fear. Instead, she raised her hand in greeting.

She was a civilian, he guessed. Once could never be sure, though, but at the moment, she seemed harmless.

He raised his hand back.

She smiled, "You're a ninja? Ghost of the jungle?"

She was shouting to be heard and Leonardo just nodded. No point in denying it, it was pretty obvious after all. With the twin Katana's strapped to his back, Leonardo knew that, in his stealth suit, he pretty much_looked_ like the very embodiment of the classic Ninja.

Aside from the fact that he was a turtle. Apparently news of him, the ghost of the jungle spread fast, if people didn't even give him a second look. That was worrying.

She smiled wider, "Espiritu, you look tired. Would you like to come in?"

This was a dangerous offer. She seemed harmless and might very well be just that. On the other hand, she could be a very skilled opponent. Leonardo glanced up at the patches of sky that were visible through the trees. It was getting darker, much faster than he'd anticipated.

If he went in, it could be risky, but for the first time since leaving the city, he had the chance to rest in relative safety. This was definitely a better option that continuing on. If he didn't collapse from exhaustion, he would be forced to rest out in the open with no protection. Even this, which could very well be a trap, was a trap with the promise of food and rest, and he really could not afford to turn that down.

He grinned, nodding his head, "Thank you."

*0*

The house smelled smoky, as if there was a fire going in just the other room. It was completely possible, with the warm, cozy heat. He could smell something else, something like ham or bacon.

He sniffed.

The girl paused, turning to look at him, "I'm just cooking dinner, would you like some?" He'd found out that her name was Tiroso, Tiroso Menis. She lived here and rented out a room to any travelers that came this way. She'd said that the income wasn't great, but enough to survive and she loved it here, after all. It was so beautiful in the thick of the jungle. Leonardo had thought that there was more to it, but he'd left it at that. He hadn't told her his name. He'd been careful not to say much at all, actually. Tiroso hardly seemed to notice. She was definitely a taker herself, and not the listening type.

Leonardo cleared his throat, "Um. Look, thank you very much for your hospitality, but I think I should be going. "

"What?" Tiroso's face was scrunched in confusion, "Something wrong?"

"No, no, nothing." He smiled, "I have somewhere I need to be."

"But you look exhausted."

"It's important."

"Whatever it is can wait until you _aren't_ almost falling over!" She placed her hands on her hips and leaned forward, almost motherly despite being a good few inches shorter than him, "Espiritu, you need to rest."

Rest. That word sounded too good. It sounded better than it should have. His stomach made a low, growling noise. Food sounded good as well.

The thought made him frown, "Okay."

That seemed enough for Tiroso, "Great. You can wait in the lounge, I'll go finish up." She pointed down the hall, "Straight through there."

Leonardo nodded, feeling almost numb with the relief of just _giving in,_ for once, to the exhaustion. His recent fight had taken its toll on him, more than usual, and he could feel his body shutting down, desperate for time to recuperate. All of a sudden, he realized how fortunate he was to have made the choice to stay. If he'd kept going, he would most likely be passed out somewhere in the forest.

He stumbled into the living room. It was cluttered with papers and books, couches and throw rugs. A small fire was roaring in the back of the room, safe in its fire place. Leonardo sank down into a very, _very_ comfortable looking armchair, breathing a sigh of contentment.

It _was_comfy. He shut his eyes, leaning his head back against the cushions. Sleeping for a couple of minutes would definitely be alright.

He was a ninja. He always slept with one eye open anyway. And unless Tiroso came in here, charging at him with a frying pan, he'd be alright.

***0***

Dinner was nice.

The atmosphere was relaxed and Leonardo was feeling much better. Turns out, Tiroso had not felt the need to charge at him with a frying pan and had, instead, had the sense to wake him up from the other side of the room, opting for shouting instead of shaking him.

Leonardo had told her that that had been a smart move.

She'd said that, yes, she knew that.

When he'd asked if she had warriors staying there often, she'd just shrugged, "I've had _all_ types staying here."

He hadn't questioned her further.

"So, Espiritu," Tiroso looked up from her plate, "Do you have a family?"

She was dancing around questions, never asking him a thing about his village, about his mission. She knew what she was doing, certainly, and none of her questions were the least bit threatening to him or his cover.

But she'd had ninja's staying here before, it wasn't surprising that she knew how to speak to them.

He shook his head, swallowing his food and reaching for his glass. Watered down Sake (He'd found it strange that a girl from this part of the world would have this, but he hadn't questioned it further) , but Leonardo could handle his alcohol, "Yes." He replied, "What about you?"

She shrugged and averted her eyes, "No…"

Leonardo caught the implication and against his better judgment, reached out and took her hand from where it rested on the table. She looked up at him and smiled, a small, sad smile that made his chest tighten even though he wasn't sure why.

"I'm sorry…" Tiroso whispered. God, she was gorgeous and Leonardo wondered why he hadn't seen it before. Her eyes were green, he noted. Strange, he hadn't picked up on it before. They seemed to sparkle and glitter and Leonardo wanted nothing more than to wipe the sadness from them, stop the sadness from tainting her perfection.

He smiled at her, "Me too." Her hand was warm in his, her fingers twined with his. Her hand was so small, delicate. Perfect next to his larger, calloused one. Her skin looked that much whiter against the green of _his _skin. He stared at their hands for a long, hard, moment that seemed to last an eternity. Then he forced himself to pull away and the moment was broken.

He grabbed the sake again, taking a large gulp. What the _hell_ was _that_? With _him_? And _her_? And he was a _Ninja_for God's sake. What happened to professionalism? Stealth?

He let his fork clatter to his plate. It was almost empty and he stood, rather abruptly.

He muttered something about the food being good and that he needed to use the bathroom, before practically storming out of the room.

She didn't follow him and for that, he was grateful.

***0***

The air was cold, nippy as it blew at his hair and at his clothes. The thin, stretchy material did little to keep out the cold and where he stood, arms crossed, outside the cottage. He'd left his poncho in his bag, but he was starting to wish he had worn it.

He could leave now, he supposed. He'd eaten and rested for a bit. It hadn't been quite enough to stave of the heavy, oppressing, tiredness that seemed to fill him up from the inside out. But it had certainly helped and Solola didn't seem so far away now.

"Espiritu? Would you like me to show you to your room?"

He didn't say anything for a long moment.

"Espiritu?"

"Thank you." He turned and walked inside, trying to ignore her expression, confused and _almost_ hurt. He tried to ignore the way his heart clenched. Because it _didn't_ matter. _She_ didn't matter. But why couldn't he believe that?

Tiroso nodded and moved in front of him, leading the way. It was the last room on the right of her short passage, "Here you go, Espiritu." She nodded, respectful, "I hope that it is to your liking."

"I'm sure it's great." Damn it. He slipped up again.

Tiroso raised her eyes to meet his, smiling, small and shy, "Goodnight, Espiritu."

She turned and he couldn't help it. It just slipped out, quick and quiet and he had no idea _why_he said it, but he wasn't _quite_ sure whether or not he regretted it, "Leonardo."

She stopped, glancing over her shoulder. She was still smiling but there was a light in her eyes, "Goodnight, Leonardo."

And then she was gone, all the way down the corridor.

He knew it was stupid, telling her his name.

If Raph could see him now, he'd never hear the end of it. What the _hell_was wrong with him?

Leonardo sighed, pinched the bridge of his beak and slammed the door shut.

***0***

Something was in the room. No some_one_. From where he lay, Leonardo could hear her breathing. _Her._ Tiroso.

He pushed himself up, squinting into the blackness, "Who is it?"

She didn't answer, just moved a little bit closer. Then he heard her take a deep breath, "You know who."

He did.

"Tiroso, what are you doing here?"

She was at the edge of his bed now and she sat down. He felt her weight push the mattress down.

"I heard something…" She whispered. Leonardo could make out her face now, pale and ashen in the darkness.

Leonardo knew there was nothing. If there was danger, he would have sensed it, "It's nothing." He muttered.

She shifted, "Probably not…" She took a deep breath, "But…"

"You scared?" He reached up and touched her arm, bare in her night dress.

Her silence was enough of an answer.

"Tiroso…" His voice was lower than he wanted, heavier too and he knew that she could sense it. She shouldn't be there, in his room, this late. What time was it anyway?

"Leonardo" She skirted closer to him, at the top of the bed, and he gave into the urge to wrap his arm around her.

She snuggled closer to him.

"Tiroso." She shouldn't be here. Was she not enough of a temptation behind closed doors? When she was far away from him where he couldn't see her,. If was bad enough that he'd fallen asleep to the sounds of her breathing.

"Sorry." But she made no sign of moving. Instead, she placed a hand on his chest, drawing slow, lazy circled with her fingers. Leonardo's breath caught in his throat and he found himself wishing that he'd slept with his stealth suit on. He said nothing. _She's just nervous_. He swallowed hard, _I don't want to say anything that will make her feel uncomfortable_.

But it didn't stop _him_ from feeling very, very uncomfortable.

He flushed, his free hand rubbing the back of his neck, "Tiroso."

"Hmm?" She looked up at him with those big, bright eyes of hers. They seemed darker in the night, a deep emerald, but they were no less beautiful.

He swallowed again, clearing his throat, "Tiroso, you should get to bed."

Tiroso pushed herself up and, for a moment, Leonardo thought she would leave. But she didn't. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips against his.

This was different. Her aura, her vibe, had gone from meek and mellow to practically lecherous in mere seconds.

Leonardo was torn.

One side of him, his logical, rational side was screaming at him to get away. She'd been trouble from the start and he could never have anything to do with. Accepting her hospitality had been bad enough and now this? He was a Ninja. A Goddamn _ninja_!

The other side, the less coherent side, was elated. _Yes_, he was a ninja and she didn't _care._ He was a turtle, a mutant but she still _wanted_him. She felt so damn _good_ pressed against him like that. He was flushed now and there was a hot, thick stirring in his stomach.

That was the side that insisted he give into it, that exulted as he wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her back, harder, more passionate.

"Leonardo…" She whispered, but it was almost a moan and why did she have to sound so damn wanton? Why did she have to look like that, with strands of hair falling across her face? Messily, untidy, but that just made her so much more attractive.

"Tiroso.." He could barely think straight. It was just her, on top of him, straddling him. Her body was warm and he could taste her as she ran her tongue against his. But then she pulled away, striping off her clothes, peeling her nightgown off her shoulders, over her head and tossing onto the floor. It was then that Leonardo's self control slipped and shattered. Then again, with her around, he wasn't quite sure he even had any to begin with.

She leaned over him. As she did so, her hair fell over her shoulders, exposing them. That's when he saw it. It was a tiny, insignificant mark, but Leonardo knew what it meant. Leonardo stood by the thought of never hitting a woman, even if combat if it could be avoided. But this time, it couldn't be helped. Not this time, and Leonardo could feel something like anger, something like rage bubble to the surface. But he thought it felt a little bit more like betrayal.

It all happened so fast.

He lashed out.

His strike caught her and she was thrown back, slammed into the floor.

She groaned low, pushing herself up, "Leonardo…wha…" Even though she looked confused, hurt, Leonardo saw he hand reaching behind her, where she was still clad in her undergarments. She had a breathtaking figure, and if Leonardo wasn't preoccupied, he may have admired her. But then again, she had tried to kill him and now, all bets were off.

"I know you're working for the Mara Salvatrucha." His voice was more of a growl than he would have liked and he fought to regain control over him emotions, over his anger.

"Leonardo…I…" She shook her head, "How did you know?"

Her confession caught him off guard. He was expecting her to deny it, to spin him some stupid sob story that he would do anything, _anything_ to believe.

But he swallowed his feelings, they felt like acid burning a hole through his stomach, "Tattoo." He answered, curt, abrupt.

Tiroso. Her name started to blur. Tiroso Menis. Mentiroso. _Liar._

"Ah." She pushed herself to her feet and Leonardo could see that now, she had a knife in her hand. She raised it to her throat.

"A pity…" She was smiling now, a thin, wry smile. Leonardo was surprised to see no malice in her eyes, no hostility. She did not look like a gang member, like one of the Mara Salvatrucha's henchmen. She didn't even look like a killer. But then, what exactly did a killer look like?

"Tiroso. Why?" There was a sudden jolt in his chest. He could feel a rope of bad, _bad_ emotions wrap themselves around his heart, his lungs, squeezing them.

She shook her had again and a tiny drop of blood was squeezed from her neck, "Goodnight, Leonardo."

Then there was smoke and Leonardo was on his knees on the floor, choking and coughing. He clutched at his heaving chest. He opened his mouth, trying to ignore the sick, burning pain in his lungs and his stomach. He gasped, retching until his limbs gave in and he collapsed on his back. He could feel his body convulsing, twisting and jerking. The decent into unconsciousness was slow and painful.

There was sickening, crunching sound, like a fruit being split in half. He heard a body fall. And he knew it was over.

***0***

Nyctophobia- The extreme, irrational fear of the dark. Nyctophobia is more commonly a problem in childhood, where experience hasn't taught us when we're safe. Nyctophobia in adults is usually an indication we haven't faced that fear early on, and possibly had some bad darkness experiences in the past. Why Leonardo was remembering this now, he didn't know. He'd had that fear, once. A long time ago as a child. It didn't matter anymore. As he opened his eyes, pain, hot, heavy and thick, assaulted his senses. He groaned, biting down on his lower lip, hard enough to draw blood.

_Fuck._

He was fighting Tiroso.

_Tiroso_.

He felt sick.

Tiroso was dead. She had been with the Mara Salvatrucha. She'd tried to kill him. Leonardo pushed himself to his knees. His lungs were aching every time he took breath. He had to gasp and heave.

That smoke.

He could still smell it, bitter and dry. It had burned his nasal passages and throat and he could feel blisters in his mouth. His skin seemed fine, but every time he breathed, it felt like he was about to pass out.

_Poison._

Poisonous gas. He had no clue what kind. He didn't know how long he'd been out. He didn't know how long he had left.

The room still smelled of the gas, but on top of that, blood and Leonardo couldn't handle the smell. Since he was young he'd _hated_ it. Hated it with a passion. But he never said anything. Blood was part of a Ninja's job. He'd long come to terms with that. He wasn't afraid of it.

_Solola._

He cursed the town, under his breath, for ever sending him on this mission. He knows it's not their fault, but for the first time in a long while, he needs someone to blame.

As he spoke the words, they grated against his throat, and he could taste blood, feel it. He swallowed, careful, cautious.

"_Fuck_…" Even though it hurt, it felt good to voice the words, the words that usually stayed buried in his throat because Leonardo avoided cussing if he could. He always had, and he remembered Raph and Mikey ragging him for it.

But that was okay, because they were his brothers and they were _alive_. In the end, that was all that really mattered.

He didn't touch Tiroso's body. He didn't look in her direction as he threw on his stealth suit, grabbed his bag and left the room. He went to her kitchen and didn't feel bad for grabbing the food and chucking it in with his water and supplies. When he finally stumbled out of the house, the sun was just beginning to rise.

_Figures._

The absolute _irony_ of it got to Leonardo and he laughed, a slow, bitter laugh that was so _not_like him that it should have scared him. Only it didn't. And he would have kept on laughing, but it hurt too much and he stopped.

Suddenly, Leonardo was tired. He had to force himself to move, his lungs burning at each gasp, dredged up from thee bit of his stomach. It hurt to breath and his head was starting to go foggy. He clutched at it, on hand at his heaving chest, the other buried in his hair. It felt greasy, and he wasn't surprised. He though he should have showered at _her_house, maybe, but then he remembers _her_and he stops thinking.

It carries on like this for a while, longer than Leonardo cares to remember. If he can remember anything now. His mind is clear but time is slipping. As he thinks, the vision, the thought, falls from his grasp and shatters on the floor and Leonardo knows if he tries to pick it up, he will fumble and slice his fingers and die of blood loss. And he wonders where that thought came from.

Everything hurts and it reminds him of the pain that arises from the celestial gates, only worse, because he opened five only a few hours back and now this poison is killing him too.

Solola feels far away again and that's when Leonardo realizes something.

_He isn't going to make it._

He can feel the poison, acidic and hot, burning through the thin linings of his lungs and throat. He can see, but everything is just a little too dim.

He still feels sick.

He slumps back, back against a tree, taking huge lungful of air that all amount to nothing. His hands grapple for something to hold on to, to cling to as the pain just gets too _much_. He fists them in the dirt, but his grip is weak and everything is so dark.

Then comes the fear because he realizes, he can't see anything anymore. Something wet slides down his face, salty and warm from his eyes.

But that's not right, because Leonardo isn't crying. And that's when he realizes that it's blood.

And he still can't see anything but he can feel far,_far_ to well. And Leonardo's face twists into a bitter, painful grimace. He arches his back but the pain is sudden and it follows him.

And he think that, maybe, it's easier to _not_ go back.

***0***

Everything is fading in and out now, in and out and Leonardo feels himself swept along. He cannot hold onto the thoughts, the memories slipping from his grip.

He remembers.

***0***

Leonardo wonders how his brother will take the news. And somewhere in between the hazes, he thinks that he picks up his phone (the one that is always off, that he refuses to ever use) and he calls someone. But he isn't sure) The pain is getting near to unbearable and it's all Leonardo can do to stay awake. One in particular, a sharp, white hot stab at his stomach has him bent over, retching and choking and gasping. His body is slowly, slowly failing him, shutting down bit by bit. He can feel it.

He's coherent though, and somehow, that's the worse part.

He knows his death will affect Master Splinter.. Maybe not much. Maybe he will hurt, maybe he will be glad. Maybe he will be ashamed at how his student died and he'll train his brothers to be better. Or maybe he thinks they're better already and the only shame will be from having had Leonardo as a son. But Leonardo doubts it.

He doesn't know.

Donatello. He'll be upset, but he has no way of knowing how deep the hurt will run. It could be nothing more than a surface wound, or it could gauge his heart out. Leonardo doubts it though, and he hopes he is correct.

And Mikey.

Leonardo grimaces.

Too little. Too late. And he hopes that Mikey, no, he _knows_ that Mikey is strong enough to go on without him. It's the other way round for Leonardo. If he lost his brother (any of them) he doesn't know if he could go on. He doesn't think so but he really, really hopes (and he sends up a prayer to whoever is listening) that Mikey _can._

He hopes that he has done enough for Raphael. The man is strong, but he hurts too deeply, and Leonardo wishes that he could have done more. It was never enough.

Raph will be okay, and Leonardo hopes that his death will mean nothing to his brother, because the last thing he needs is _more_ heartache, _more_pain.

"Don't miss me…" He mumbles to the ground. Because now he can feel it. His time is running out. The words are dredged up from his throat, raw and hoarse.

But then, that shouldn't really be a problem, because people might hurt, but no one will ever miss Leonardo.

Just like no one misses Tiroso.

But he knows that's a lie.

***0***

"Oh my God."

There's a voice, it's talking beside his ear. His voice is loud and harsh and he just wants to tell him to shut up. For some reason though, he can't seem to form the words.

"Leo." He feels a hand on his shoulder and he wants to scream at the agony. But he can't and he lets out a strangled groan.

"Leonardo. Can you hear me?" He knows that voice and the first thing he thinks is: he should never sound worried. Not like that. It's an underlying fear beneath the calm, but Leonardo hears it. He's always heard it. It's one of the things that pisses Raphael off the most.

He tries to open his eyes and for a moment, he succeeds, but then he remembers that he can't see anything and he closes them again.

"Fuck…" He knows that voice too, but he can't quite place it. As if reading his mind, Raphael speaks out, "Casey not now! Donny, do you think ya can do anything?"

"I can try." So it was Donatello that he first heard. His mind is hazy, groggy and he tries to place the name to a face. His brother, smart, genius… purple bandana. Ah yes, he has it now.

He wonders who else is there. He can hear voices, but they've tuned out to static. He knows those voices. They're arguing and somehow that feels comfortable, right. But they shouldn't argue ad he tries to get up and stop them. But then he remembers why he was lying still to start with and he collapses to the ground with a strangled hiss. His chest is heaving and he hears Raphael's voice again, "Leo. Relax. Stop movin'."

He knows this to be Raphael's version of comfort and he wants to smile.

He's really, really glad they're here because he's realized that he doesn't want to die.

But if he has to, he doesn't want to die alone either.

***0***

"Casey! Mikey!" The two snapped to attention at the sound of Raphael's voice.

"Stop fighting." Raphael's voice was low, strained and neither of them could remember hearing him like that.

"Don," He continued, "Needs help."

Mikey didn't hesitate. Casey paused, grimaced and walked over, "Okay, what do ya want us ta do?" He was carefully avoiding looking at Leonardo.

"Casey, we passed a stream a couple minutes back, can you fetch me some water?"

The man nodded and sprinted back down the path.

"Mikey I need you to hold Leonardo down."

He frowned, "Donatello." He couldn't, "Why?"

"I have to give him an injection. It's fast acting so when I do, it's going to hurt."

Mikey swallowed hard.

"I need you to calm him down, he's not himself and we can't have him fighting me."

"Why me?"

Donatello looked frazzled, "Who else Mikey?"

He hesitated.

"Mikey!"

Slowly, Mikey knelt behind Leonardo, wrapping his arms around him in a vise and pinning him firmly against his chest.

The squirmed against the hold, hissing quietly. Sweat trickled down his face, the salty liquid soaking his skin. It washed over the tracks of blood. Leonardo was breathing hard, shuddering in Mikey's grip.

"Mikey- I'll be right back."

Mikey tightened his grip as Donatello left to fetch the water from Casey, "Leo…" He muttered as his brother strained harder against him, "Bro, just stay still!"

The turtle grunted in response, vacant and strained, and Mikey got the sick, sick feeling that the Leonardo he knew wasn't really present at the moment. He believed, no he knew, that his brother was strong and could take pain that would have most others in a screaming fit. He had discipline and self control, and if he knew what he was doing at that moment, fighting treatment and making things so much harder for them, he would probably never believe it of himself. Was that why Donatello had sounded so worried? Because she didn't know what thee he would do?

"Leonardo…" he spoke low, "Leo, can you hear me?"

He got no response.

How had they let it get this far? The thing that scared Mikey the most was the fact that this was pure luck. If Leo hadn't called them, if Don hadn't been right with the tracker. They could have taken another route and they would never have found him. He'd still be here, dying alone with no chance of rescue. The though send a tremor down Mikey's spine. Never. _Never_. Leonardo would not die, not like _this._

Like this.

It was heart wrenching, seeing his brother, his leader, in this state. He was in so much pain. Leonardo was gritting his teeth and every few moment's a sound, a low, keening noise of agony was torn from his throat. Almost like a whimper. Except, Leonardo didn't whimper.

Mikey shifted his grip, trying to make Leonardo as comfortable was possible.

"I'm not giving up on you, bro.." He muttered, low so that no one else would hear, "I promise."

Raphael looked up at him at that moment, and Mikey thought that he may have heard. But then he bowed his head, and kept stripping the cloth to bind Leonardo's arm.

Most of the med kit bandages were strapped around Mikey's leg, from their earlier stay in a cargo hold.

Mikey couldn't help feeling guilty, _Leonardo needs these more than me._

"Mikey."

He looked up.

Raph was staring at him hard, "Don's here."

Mikey shifted as Donatello sat beside him.

There was a needle he'd prepped a while ago. When they'd heard Leonardo on the phone, how he'd sounded, Donatello had had enough sense to take all the medical supplied he had. Thankfully he'd been able to identify the poison after a bit of research.

He plunged the needle into Leonardo's arm.

Leonardo hissed again and strained against Mikey. The younger ninja just gripped him tighter, mouth set in a grim line.

The minutes it took to cleanse the poison felt like an eternity for both Donatello and Mikey. Mikey had shut his eyes, grimacing as he held Leonardo still, muttering reassurances that he didn't really believe. When Don was finally finished, the area was cleansed and all the gathered poison hopefully being worked out of the system. Mikey still held Leonardo just as tightly, but by now his brother had stopped struggling and was hanging limp in his grip. He gave a shudder, mumbled something that neither of his brothers could hear.

"Leo…?"

"Mikey…" He muttered softly, just loud enough for them to hear, "I'm going to be sick…"

He fell from Mikey's grip onto his hands and knees on the floor. Leonardo leaned over into the sand, and retched.

The man kept up the torturous gasping and retching until it was obvious that there was nothing more to bring up. When that happened, Mikey supported him as he collapsed against his brother's hands.

"Leo!"

He looked at them for a long moment, but his eyes were glazed, unfocused. Then they slipped shut and he went limp.

***0***

"How did you find me?"

Leonardo is sitting in a bed in the infirmary. His arm is bandaged and his eyes, abet still sensitive, are alright again.

"Ya called us, bro." Raphael leans forward, chin in his hands, "It took us two days to find ya, Donny says that's why ya took a while to recover."

Leonardo nods, slowly, "How long was I gone?"

Raphael smiles, wry and thin and Leonardo knows that_he_ knows exactly why he needs to ask, "Two years." He mutters, "Seven days."

"And how long was I out?"

Raphael looks uncomfortable and Leonardo does _not_ want to know what happened when he was under the poison's influence, "Four."

All of a sudden, Leonardo laughs. It's loud and genuine and he realizes that he hasn't laughed like that in a long time.

Raphael quirks an eyebrow.

"Happy belated-birthday."

Raphael just blinks for a moment before he scowls, "Thanks."

"How old this year, Raphael?"

"Eighteen."

Leonardo chuckles. He's not much better; according to him, he himself is only nineteen.

"So what, twenty three?"

"Nope, eighteen."

Leonardo just grins at the game that they play each birthday and leans back against the clean sheets.

"Raph…" The air is serious again.

"Hmm?"

"Did I miss anything? When I was out?"

Raphael doesn't answer for a moment.

"Couple robberies, a flood down in Haiti, uh, the a girl was working under cover for a gang. The uh… Mara Salsomethings. She was killed."

"Mara Salvatrucha" It's an automatic correction.

"Yeah." Raphael frowns, "Ya know them?"

"You could say that."

"Anyway, this woman, near Guatemala City."

Leonardo can feel the blood drain from his face, "What…?"

Raphael elaborates, "Casey was the one that found her, that's the only reason I rememba. Was on the news too. She wasn't far off from you, in an abandoned building."

Leonardo cannot speak.

"She was working undercover, apparently. Just thinking, ya probably wanted to know, being in Guatemala and all. " Raphael's voice is stiff and Leonardo think that there are probably issues he'll have to resolve later.

"What…" Leonardo can barely form the words, "What was her name?"

"Menisa Tirosoda"

_Menis Tiroso_.

Menisa Tirosoda

_Menis_ Tiroso.

_Menisa _ Tirosoda

_Tiroso_

Tirosoda

_Tiroso_

Leonardo lowers his head, his mind numb, blank.

Raphael doesn't ask what happened. You never do. He just places a hand on Leonardo's shoulder, "You know her?" It's more of a statement than a question.

After a long, heavy silence Leonardo answers, "You know Raph, I really wish I did."

* * *

**~ FIN**

* * *

**What did you think?**


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